


basorexia

by orphan_account



Category: His Dark Materials (TV), His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
Genre: Daemon Touching, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, these two are not healthy and yet we can’t get enough of them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:27:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27548326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “I don’t know what you’ve done to me,” Asriel confesses, feverishly murmuring words onto her lips after each kiss. “You make me furious like I’ve never been before.”Marisa does not reply, whimpering into his kiss as he pulls her body roughly against his, his daemon already tussling with her monkey on the floor beside them.-Asriel has never been a jealous man. He has never needed to be.As always, Marisa appears to be the exception.
Relationships: Lord Asriel/Marisa Coulter
Comments: 7
Kudos: 48





	basorexia

It is rage Asriel feels that evening, the kind one feels when something unjust has been done to a person, and the culprit walks away with barely a slap on the wrist. It’s burning, hot, and threatening to snap every time he looks across the hall, and sees the politician’s hand brush past his wife’s at dinner. 

He feels Stelmaria’s head weigh heavily on his knee, a normally calming presence that would ground him, but this entire encounter is not normal, and Asriel can only hope that he does not shatter his glass as he slams it down for the fourteenth time that night. His dinner companion jumps at the harsh, obtrusive sound, but Asriel pays no mind, his attention focused on the brunette, whose eyes flicker up for a mere moment before darting back to her husband. 

There is something bitter, corroding and rusting in his stomach, polluting and contaminating his every thought and for a moment, Asriel imagines throttling the man against the dinner table. Stelmaria shifts her head slightly, drawing his attention and Asriel takes a deep, shuddering breath. This is unlike him, he reminds himself. Asriel was not a man to covet what others had, for what was there that he did not have himself? 

He is tired, he decides, having only just come back from an expedition and immediately forced to attend one of these ridiculous banquets for appearance’s sake. Yes, that is it. That is all it is. 

Asriel repeats that like a mantra, letting the hollow words echo endlessly as he grits his teeth, watching Edward lean in towards his wife as he likely makes some dreary comment about his dreary life as a dreary man. 

Marisa laughs prettily, convincingly. Only Asriel knows better, he tells himself. He knows because he’s observed her enough to recognise the practiced restraint of her lips, compared to the wild, vicious smiles he sees in the cover of the night. He knows, not desires, that that is what it is, because there is no possibility, no outcome where Marisa could genuinely enjoy a single thing that insipid man has to say.

Not at all. And of course, Asriel thinks this merely due to his observant nature, rather than any vested interest in the situation. 

None whatsoever, he reminds himself just as Edward kisses his wife, and suddenly Asriel understands the burning and twisted rage of lovers scorned that poets seem to so often lament and weep over. 

“If you would excuse me,” he murmurs to the host, a normally delightful young lady, whose beaming smile seems cheap and gaudy compared to the brilliance of snarls and bared teeth glinting in the beams of moonlight, and Asriel stands up. He all but tosses his napkin on the table and strides from the room without another word, only briefly pausing to collect his coat. 

He jumps into a cab without another thought, the sharp, winter air only stabbing into his throat painfully, more so than any arctic gale he’d ever encountered. 

He doesn’t know how long it is until he finally reaches his home, but he bursts through the doors, racing past Thorold with barely any acknowledgement as he goes straight to his study. A cabinet full of liquor awaits him and Asriel doesn’t waste a moment before he’s poured himself a glass of tokay, downing it within mere moments and then pouring himself another. 

“Sir?” An apprehensive voice calls out behind him. Asriel spins around to see Thorold, old face lined even more so with worry and wrinkles as he watches his master. “Is everything alright?” 

“Perfectly fine,” Asriel states in clipped tone. “I wish to be left alone.” He finishes his second glass, and goes to make himself third. The soft click of the door tells him that his wish is heeded, however reluctantly. 

“Will she be joining us?” Stelmaria asks, padding softly up to his side. 

“I don’t know,” Asriel spits. “I don’t care,” he insists a moment later, though his voice lacks the conviction he so desires, and he is glad that there is no one there to hear it. 

She does come, in the dead of night when Asriel has sunken into a chair with another glass and a glare that practically makes him look like a brooding hen. Marisa takes one look at him and then laughs, the sound cutting to the bone. “Oh dear,” she says, lips widening into that cruel smile. “Have I kept you waiting?” 

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he retorts, taking another swig. He makes no move to greet her and Marisa frowns, crossing her delicate arms. 

“Have I caused offence?” The question seems genuine, and that is what terrifies Asriel most. There is not one ounce of authenticity or honesty in this woman until he wrings it from her body himself. 

“I think you should leave,” he says tightly, ignoring Stelmaria’s low growl at the suggestion. 

Marisa’s eyes narrow. “Asriel, do be serious.” 

“I am,” he tells her, sloshing his drink around as he gestures with his hand. “Get out.” 

Marisa’s gaze turns sharp and there in venom in her eyes, more dangerous and fatal than any other poison Asriel had ever encountered. “How kind of you to fail to withdraw the invitation, when I could have found some other way to entertain myself this evening rather than sneaking through London.” She immediately grabs her coat off the chair, snapping her fingers at her monkey who obediently takes her hand to swing up onto her shoulder. 

“If you want a fuck, I’m sure Edward would suffice,” he spits out. “Though it would likely only be brief.” 

Her nose had crinkled at the initial obscenity, though he’d know her to say fair worse, but she had stopped after his last words. She turns then, eyes wide with amazement. “You’re jealous,” she says, clearly delighted as she comes closer, a smirk toying with the corners of her lips. “I am flattered.” 

She leans in, dark hair tickling his face. “Is this love, Asriel?” Marisa mocks, before making to stand up again but Asriel grabs a fistful of hair, locking her head in place. Marisa lets out a noise of shock, though she does not try to escape his grip. 

He will later blame the alcohol for his next actions, or her own irritating qualities or anything that is not his own beating heart. “I will have you begging and pleading for release because of the injustice done to me tonight, you understand?” Asriel tells her, enjoying the way she swallows heavily. He tightens his grip in her scalp, dragging her face to his. “And you will only be allowed such relief when I am satisfied.” 

He pulls her onto his lap, with Marisa letting out a startled yelp that is muffled by his rough kiss. She eagerly responds, her arms wrapping around his shoulders, his neck as she tries to bring herself closer to him. Asriel pulls away, focusing on undoing the zipper of her dress and then pulling it off her completely. It leaves her bare, flushed, dressed only in light, lacy underwear that Asriel wants to rip off her skin in an instant.

Instead, he kisses her breasts through the flimsy material, wet things that make it cling to her perfect, almost porcelain skin. He suddenly has the overwhelming desire to mark it, to prove that this woman belongs to him and only him, with no husband, no world, ever being deserving of possessing this woman. 

“I don’t know what you’ve done to me,” Asriel confesses, feverishly murmuring words onto her lips after each kiss. “You make me furious like I’ve never been before.” 

Marisa does not reply, whimpering into his kiss as he pulls her body roughly against his, his daemon already tussling with her monkey on the floor beside them. 

Asriel manages to slide his hand into her underwear, finding her already wet. He cups her sex, almost grinding into it, drawing an obscene sound from Marisa’s lips as she tries to moves her hips and gain some relief. With his other hand, Asriel grabs them, forcing her to still her movements. 

“You will either behave, or you will leave,” he tells her roughly, continuing to massage her slick folds, making her face contort beautifully. He stops all movements and Marisa lets out a sharp noise as she mourns the loss. “Am I understood?” Asriel continues, waiting until she looks at him and nods, before sliding two fingers in. Marisa’s breathing hitches in her throat as she tries to keep still, hips bucking only slightly into his hand before she controls herself. 

Asriel waits for her to completely compose herself before he begins to lazily thrust into her, making sure to curl his fingers in the way that drives her mad. True enough, Marisa’s fingers dig into his back, likely leaving bloody crescents as she tries to restrain herself. She mauls her own lip between white teeth, and Asriel can see the blood that stains them. 

He continues his lazy ministrations, slowly driving her towards pleasure, albeit torturously. This is not the softness of a lover affectionately adoring another, this is cruelty, punishment, as he continues to deny her easy pleasure. 

He adds a third finger and stops his thrusts, merely flexing his fingers inside her, enjoying how she clamps around him. “Asriel,” Marisa pleads desperately, voice shaky as she attempts to obey his earlier command. “Please, I’m so close..” 

“What did I say?” Asriel retorts, making sure that when he next curl his fingers, he scrapes his nails against Marisa, who whimpers but somehow remains still. “You will not until I say you are allowed to.” He begins to thrust back into her until a sudden idea forms in his mind, and he stops once again. This time Marisa actually swears, eyes falling shut. 

Ariel pays no mind, instead glancing over at Stelmaria, who has her monkey pinned under one paw. Upon Asriel’s nod, she grabs him by the neck and brings him over to the chair where Asriel sits. Marisa’s eyes shoot open. 

“Remember, not until I say so,” Asriel reminds her, just as his hand glances over the daemon’s golden fur. Marisa lets out a strangled noise, one mangled in her throat as she tries to refrain from screaming as he continues to stroke her daemon. 

“Oh God, Asriel, oh, oh,” she begins to deliriously mutter, as he feels her tighten around his fingers yet again. “Please, I can’t, god, oh god.” 

“You will,” he tells her firmly, delighting in how she bites down onto her fist, so she can hide another scream. She’s dripping almost obscenely onto his hand now, and he can tell how close she is by the tightness of her jaw. 

He alternates between flexing his fingers and stroking her daemon, varying it so much that Marisa can never tell which shall be next. She’s practically a quivering wreck in his lap as she tries to stave off her practically imminent release, and Asriel almost takes pity on her. Almost. 

“See how much you need me,” he murmurs into her ear, enjoying the filthy moan that escapes her. “Only me.” 

She nods frantically. “Only you, Asriel, it’s only ever been you, oh god, you, only you.” 

He smiles, appreciating the response. “Good,” he tells her, even as he withdraws his fingers and stops his caressing of her daemon. Marisa’s eyes widen as she struggles to comprehend. Asriel merely gestures with one hand. “Go ahead,” he says, enjoying how Marisa quivers and shakes on him. “Show me.” 

Marisa’s hands immediately drop from his shoulder, with one going to play with her breast, while the other goes straight to her cunt, where she sinks onto her own fingers with a cry. Asriel watches as she brings herself close to completion, sweat clinging to her brow. Her tears eyes fix on his as she waits for instruction. 

He leans in, watching how she struggles to stay focused. “You may,” Asriel tells her, just as his own hand finds her clit, flicking and tweaking her soaked nub. 

Marisa lets out a choked cry as she shatters on top of him, jerking for several moments as she calls out his name repeatedly, over and over again. In this state of delirium, Asriel knows even she is not capable of deceit and so his victory is even sweeter. A smile graces his lips as he supports her in his arms after Marisa collapses, spent and completely drained. 

“You are mine,” Asriel tells her, kissing her face, her jaw, her neck, as he also rubs the life back into her arms. “Always, you understand?”

He doesn’t care that it isn’t true, not while there’s a slender band of gold around her finger, or the lingering echoes of some damning sermon in her mind. In this moment, she is utterly his. 

And he is utterly hers.


End file.
